


War

by all4athena



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all4athena/pseuds/all4athena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's war training takes the better of him after Sherlock's fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War

His soldiers’ training taught him better, yet his heart persisted and rebelled against it. 

“ _Damnit, soldier! He’s just a person. Just a man. A stupid, stupid man. Detach yourself!_ ” his mind would say when he ruffled through the detective’s belongings or subconsciously made two cups of tea instead of his usual one. Black, two sugars; he still remembered.

It’s been nearly a year since Sherlock became one with the angels, falling from the rooftop of St. Bart’s, but Captain Watson hadn’t moved on. He was still there, fumbling out of the car to watch the detective leave his final note. No amount of army training could’ve prepared him for the plethora of emotions he felt that day, nor the post-traumatic stress he constantly endured.

He had taken a new job. One closer to 221B so he could get home without having to cross town. It was an easy-going, stress-free job, as most of his patients were middle-aged and just needed their annual checkup. Thankfully, John saw nothing too severe that would warrant horrid flashbacks. The pay was superb. John had ample money to not only pay the rent and the monthly bills, but to frequently indulge in booze and, shall we say, hired company. Despite the superb perks of this new career, it still had one major flaw: it was just past St. Bart’s.

——-

“John, it’s time for you to go to work,” Samantha said, rolling over on her side to face the doctor, who was on his back, sleeping soundly for the first night in a week. She sighed and pressed her naked body up against his, skin touching against skin.

“John.”

No response, save for a bit of shifting on John’s part.

Samantha sighed again. Lifting an arm and running its hand along the doctor’s bare chest, she took extra precaution to stay far away from the tattered and oversensitive flesh of his scar.

Again, nothing.

“Damn you, John,” she finally said out of frustration before straddling him and rubbing her exposed sex against his arousal, which caused it to accidentally slip in.

“Well hello to you too,” John said, a sly smile making its appearance on his face; he had been awake all along.

“You absolute _prick_!” Samantha yelled back as John’s hands fell on her hips (keeping her on his member as she bucked and tried to wriggle free, which, despite her annoyance, felt amazing for the both of them) before she had time to react.

“I believe it’s _in_ you, dear,” John said, beaming up at her with a mischievous smirk.

Samantha rolled her eyes as her struggles turned into swift thrusts that caused John to slide his hands up her stomach and grab onto her breasts. “You’ve… got.. to.. work..” she said as she bounced on John’s cock.

“Not… until.. you.. make… me.. _come_..” he replied, taking her hard nipples between his thumb and index fingers, pinching and rolling them slowly.

“The feeling would.. _ah!_ ..should be mutual… Three _Cah_ … Continents,” Samantha gasped as she pushed her chest out against John’s hands.

“Fine,” John replied as he took his right hand and snaked it down Samantha’s flat stomach until it went down to her sex. He cupped it lightly, appreciating the heat that it was given off, before slathering her wetness on his index finger. He moved said finger up to the girl’s clit and began to rub the engorged organ furiously.

“Come for me?” John asked, his tone considerably light.

“Only… Only if you do the same for me,” Samantha responded, rolling her head back and screaming John’s name as she came forcefully around the doctor’s cock.

“ _Fuck!_ ” John gasped as he bucked hips upward into Samantha, desperately trying to bury his member as deep as he possibly could as he came in time with his lover.

Samantha was John’s hooker of choice; he preferred her not only because she was incredibly talented in bed, but also because of her looks. She was unnaturally tall for a girl, reaching a height of about 5’11” (which towered over John’s 5’6” stature), with dark brunette hair that folded into loose curls that shaded her light blue-green eyes if John were to tossle it just right.

He hated to admit it, but she looked like Sherlock. So much so that he had bought her a long, woolen trenchcoat and a navy scarf, which he requested she wear when they weren’t in bed together. It helped ease the pain.

“ _Detach, Captain Watson! She’s of no help. Man up! You were trained better than this!_ ”

———-

John got up, thanked (and paid) Samantha for another wonderful night, got dressed, and started walking to work, as he did every day. Today was just like every other day; he passed the bakery, the Chinese takeaway on the corner of Baker Street; there were the familiar faces at the trolley stop who greeted him. He would nod hello to them and continue on, dressed in a button-down shirt, slacks, and a pristine white lab coat.

St Bart’s was about a block ahead of him now. He continued walking towards it, on the very sidewalk that Sherlock died on, keeping his head up straight and his shoulders tense. He passed the corner of the building; it wasn’t far now, the place that Sherlock had perished.

“ _Be strong, Watson!_ ”

His legs became stone as his feet landed in the same place they had almost a year ago when he took the detective’s pulse. Despite his utter urge to walk and move forward, his legs had a mind of their own; they wouldn’t budge at all.

John looked down at the pavement for the first time in almost a year. There were still faint red stains from where Sherlock’s blood had graced the concrete slabs. “Oh God,” he muttered, his stomach instantly clenching into a tight ball. He felt as if he was going to be sick on the spot.

“ _At ease, soldier,_ ” a small voice inside him said, drastically softer than the one that usually spoke. “ _This is nothing but a small bump in the road for you. You beat Afghanistan, you can beat this. Now move out._ ”

Somehow, upon his heart’s encouragement, John’s legs regained their movement. The doctor stiffened his back, looked forward, and marched on at a soldier’s pace, deliberately stepping on the stained sidewalk.

————-

Somewhere, on a rooftop near St Bart’s, a tall, gangly man clad in a heavy trenchcoat and navy scarf watched the blonde suffer through today’s event. His blue-green eyes welled up in tears as he saw the doctor war with himself over the life-saving decision he made eleven months ago. Sherlock reached into his pocket and allowed his nimble fingers to wrap around the phone in his pocket. He pulled it out, pressed a few buttons to ensure that his number would be concealed and untrackable before typing a brief message to a wounded warrior:

Carry on, valiant soldier. Carry on, my wayward son. [Number Unknown]


End file.
